Here Alone
by Incidental
Summary: As another pang of loneliness set in, Narcissa settled herself down with a quill and pot of ink. The letter, the emptiness, and the silence all reminding her that she was there alone.


Alright, Alright. It's a song fic. I don't usually do them, but this song has been Narcissa to me since the first moment I heard it sung: Here Alone, from Little Women. I don't own any of the Malfoys, but if you know where I can get one cheap (angst riddled or not) I'd appreciate it. I don't own the quoted lyrics either, but I know the guy who does and he's pretty nice. :)

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_My Dear Husband,_

Narcissa's stomach twisted into knots as she caught sight of her appearance in the mirror hung, crooked, over the mantle in her parlor. She tried to make a mental note to send a house elf to fix it, but her mind kept going back to the robes that hung off her shrunken frame, the gaunt look on her face, the red and swollen features that gave away the hours she spent sobbing, and the limp blonde hair that almost seemed to be turning silver.

Everything was ruined for them. She was a raggedy mess, hardly the shadow of the vibrant and influential woman he'd married. Her skin had lost the glow, and even her voice resonated with hurt and lack of hope. Her laughter, even, was deeper and only let loose at the cruelty around her. Her son, once proud and headstrong, had deteriorated into a mess he tried so hard to hide from her. How could the Dark Lord even think to put so much weight onto a boy already too frail to handle himself?

And her husband. She hadn't had a glimpse of him in months. There was no body in his bed, which she'd taken to sleeping in out of desperate loneliness. There was no audacious smile as he remembered, yet again, that the house was their own personal playground with a son in school and days filled with nothing but his wife. There wasn't even a silent figure eating breakfast with her, pouring over the Prophet before dashing off to do something important for the entire day.

She bit her lip as she suppressed a sob. The months had not healed the burning, aching hole within her. She placed her quill down, burying face in her hands as she tried to regain her composure.

The Malfoys had not lost everything; money and some remaining influence had assured her that any letters she did write would get through- and a small promise that Lucius might be allowed methods of writing back. They may have stolen her privacy –raids upon raids as the ministry tore up her home looking for dark artifacts that they wouldn't find- but no one would be so cruel (or so selfless) to deny a wife communication with her husband (or to not take bribes).

But she couldn't talk of the war; she wouldn't burden him with their woes or give the even the smallest hint to the aurors who would be reading their letters that she knew anything of the war. She had to be inventive, assure her husband that everything was fine. A faux-cheerful tone as she discussed how much Draco had grown when he needed new robes, or the new husband one of her friends has taken up. She had to give him the notion that the world was not falling apart without him, that everything was fine.

But she could not do it. To remain so impersonal within the letter was impossible for her; it was nearly every other line that she mentioned her love for him. She'd force herself back though, she could not burden him with thoughts that she was here alone, pining for him.

Two pages of parchment, and the sun had set. September nights were always his favorite; he could come home to her and still take her out into the sunlight for a glass of wine before dinner. A house elf, in the midst of her writing, had brought her a glass. White. This hour of the day was the worst, she was sure.

She played with the glass, the liquid splashing over onto the very corner of her letter. With a final flourish she finished it, and signed her name. She'd send it out in the morning, less likely to get lost on the way to Azkaban that way. She placed her quill day, and wrapped an arm around her body as she made her way to his rooms. The empty room, the empty bed. The only thing that filled the room now was a sad little woman, and her wishes to bring her husband home.

_The nights seem so much longer, __now that I am here alone.__  
Lovingly,  
Narcissa Malfoy_


End file.
